


Winning a Moment

by pocketmouse



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 11:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13363881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketmouse/pseuds/pocketmouse
Summary: Nothing is every wrapped up neatly.





	Winning a Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



> Here’s hoping I can get this soundtrack out of my head in under two months (not likely).
> 
> Thanks to FairestCat for betaing.

Svetlana had just finished packing her suitcase — not that there was much to pack, when your famous husband was a defector, resources became... scarce — when there was a knock at the door. She stiffened. Molokov had made no mention of coming by tonight, and he did like to at least pretend at civility. And, well, so did she. It made living easier.

Easier still, it was not Molokov at the door.

“Miss Vassy?”

The woman looked distraught — her eyes were reddened as if she had been crying, her strong posture crumbling. “Are you well?” Svetlana asked. “What’s happened?” 

“Florence, please,” she said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here, I just — if I was by myself I was going to totally lose it, but now I —” her voice went up sharply at the end, and tears began to fall.

Svetlana drew her into her arms, and carefully closed the door. Florence clung to her as she led her to sit on the room’s lone chair. Svetlana hesitated as to what else to do, unprepared for this outpouring of emotion. The last time she had seen her, Florence had seemed so stoic.

Florence began to pull herself together before Svetlana could founder any further. Svetlana recovered slightly by offering Florence a tissue, which the other woman accepted gratefully. “I’m sorry,” Florence said, still rather watery. “I didn’t intend to come here and blubber all over you.” She sniffed, and twisted the tissue in her hands.

“Today was the final match, it can’t have been easy for you,” she offered.

Florence smiled wryly, the kind of smile that one used when attempting to force away further tears. “You don’t know the half of it.”

The story Florence poured out left Svetlana angry on Florence’s behalf, and wearily unsurprised — at both Molokov’s actions and Anatoly’s. Trumper’s motivations she could be less certain of, but she was not hopeful in that respect, either. The retelling left Florence wrung out as well, and it took very little coaxing to get her to lie back against the pillows. 

“You are going back to America tomorrow, yes? And you will be starting over, all alone. Stay here tonight, at least.”

“I don’t know that I’ll mind starting over,” Florence said. “I can focus on _me_ for once.” 

A nice dream, Svetlana thought. 

“Svetlana, I —” Florence worried at her lips for a moment. “Thank you,” she finished at last. “Thank you for listening, for everything you’ve helped me see this week.” Florence leaned up again, and brushed her lips against Svetlana’s. 

A shiver ran through Svetlana. It was just a simple gesture of thanks, but… oh, she could see what Anatoly saw in this woman.

“Sleep,” she said firmly. Her hand stroked through Florence’s hair, almost against her conscious will. She turned off the light, and escaped to the desk on the far side of the room.

* * *

The knock at the door broke the stillness and woke Svetlana out of her light doze. She lifted her hand off her chin and regarded the door. If it was Molokov, feigning being asleep was probably the best move.

The view through the peephole revealed it was still not Molokov. Maybe he was out celebrating his victory — or planning his next move. Still, she only opened her door a few inches. She felt even less charitable than usual towards her husband. 

“Why are you here, Anatoly?”

Anatoly looked unsure himself. “I thought perhaps we should talk about what you want from me, now that we are expected to reunite.”

“Very little, Tolya,” she said. “I expect you to speak with your brother, I expect you to provide for your daughters, and I expect that anything more is not up to us.” Anatoly’s sigh suggested he saw her point as well. Returning to Moscow would not be enough to make up for refusing to lose his precious chess match. For leaving in the first place.

She was about to ask about Molokov’s men when there was a rustling behind her. “Svetlana? Is that Anatoly?” Florence made an intriguing picture as she joined the two of them, her blouse partially unbuttoned, her skirt askew. Svetlana took a moment to enjoy the blush that rose across Anatoly’s features.

“Anatoly was just leaving, Florence,” she said.

“Wait,” Florence said. “I have to ask him —” her fingers curled around Svetlana’s arm as she faced Anatoly. “Did you know they were lying?” 

“With the mess of the last few days, I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” Anatoly said, tone trying for lighthearted but falling far short of the mark. 

“About my father,” Florence said, her voice cracking. “They don’t actually know…” She took a shuddering breath. “They lied to me.”

Anatoly smiled sadly. “Ah yes, that is a favored move by my countrymen.” Florence made a sound somewhere between a low moan and a roar, and made as if to lash out at him. Svetlana grabbed at her shoulders, pulling her back a little. It allowed Anatoly access to the room, but better he come in than they have it out in the hallway. Still, she threw him a look of caution, which he promptly ignored, his eyes still fixed on Florence.

Anatoly grasped Florence’s hand. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Florence’s shoulders stayed tense like a spring even as Anatoly smoothed small circles over her knuckles. “I only hoped that they cared more about their political chess than the game here in Bangkok, that in my returning to them they could still claim a Russian victory.” He coughed. “I should have looked more carefully, I didn’t consider…” he paused. “I should have looked closer. Even with the same end result, I could have saved you the pain.”

“I shouldn’t have let myself believe it might be possible,” Florence said, shaking her head as her voice quavered. “I doubt the State Department would have cleared my visa if there had been a chance it was true…”

“What will you do now, back in America?” Anatoly asked.

“I’m not sure — get my PhD, maybe teach. All I know is, I’m done with chess for a while.” She laughed bitterly. They both looked agonized.

“Enough talk, especially of chess,” Svetlana decided. “Tomorrow will be hard enough, with airports and customs and journalists. Tolya, you must —”

“Can he stay? Please?” Florence turned in her grip to face her. “Please, just for tonight —” Then Florence’s lips were on hers, and _oh_ , maybe it hadn’t been just a ‘thank you.’ She couldn’t make herself not kiss back this time, caught up in the passion and need.

“I think one night where we all are at least a little bit selfish is — well, not wise, but having at least one good memory is better than none,” Svetlana said when Florence at last released her. 

Florence turned to Anatoly. “One more time?” Her smile was a tremorous thing.

He smiled back, equally tentative. “Is this ‘one more time’ like ‘one more match?’”

“No,” Florence laughed at what must be some joke between the two of them. “No, this is _actually_ only one more time. I don’t think I could stand more than that.” She kissed him, a slow, familiar kiss, the kind that Svetlana hadn’t felt in far too long, and was now looking forward to. “So you’d better bring your best moves.”

“For you, it’s the least I can do.”


End file.
